


Blight

by thanku4urlove



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Disease, Established Relationship, Hallucinations, Horror, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Insects, M/M, Needles, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 22:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanku4urlove/pseuds/thanku4urlove
Summary: Hikaru felt it, the instant his mind went blank. Then he couldn’t stop it anymore, couldn’t fight the terror coursing through his veins; his eyes fell closed, his head lolled, and his knees gave way to the floor below.





	Blight

**Author's Note:**

> My Halloween fic for 2018! This one is based on Junji Ito's piece of work called "Futon", and writing it actually gave me nightmares so... There's that.

“Hikaru?” The voice was shaking, terror-stricken and extremely close to tears. “Hikaru, please. I’m not--” The voice broke, the sound of it almost enough to make Hikaru pause, to come out of hiding, to put down the knife. _Almost._ “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Stop lying.” Hikaru said. Or, tried to say--the words passed his lips in a hiss, almost a whisper. His throat was torn up from crying, and still there was a lump in his throat, rough and raw, every breath aching.

“Hikaru--”

“Stop!” A yell, a proper scream finally came from him and Hikaru squeezed his eyes closed, feeling his breath still in his chest. He wasn’t going to listen to those words, because that thing out there… That wasn't Keito. That wasn’t his Keito.

Work, that Friday, had almost been fun. It was a weird thought, because on a usual day, ‘fun’ was the last word Hikaru would use to describe his office job. ‘Boring’, maybe, ‘mundane’ if he was feeling fancy. But it wasn’t a particularly taxing position, and it gave him easy hours, a decent salary, and ample time off to spend with his boyfriend. So really, Hikaru couldn’t complain.

He had a full weekend planned with Keito, and he was looking forward to it. Maybe that was what made the day seem to pass so quickly; the thought of it put a spring in his step as he left the train station, swinging his briefcase with loose arms. He would cook something special, maybe, or pick up something that they would cook together. Keito was horribly clumsy in the kitchen, but he had been getting better after they’d moved in together six months ago. He still tripped over door frames, or up the stairs, or over his own feet, sure, but he slipped up less often with knives or glasses, and for that Hikaru was grateful. The clumsiness was an endearing quality, but could be made much less cute when Keito had something dangerous in his hand.

His thoughts happily preoccupied, Hikaru barely noticed that he was no longer alone on the street. There was a man was walking towards him on the sidewalk, his posture slightly hunched, his hands in his pockets. His face was down, both the angle and a hat obscuring his face. The sidewalk narrowed to accommodate a vending machine, and the man bumped into him.

“Oh, sorry--” Hikaru started, but when the person looked up, the apology died in his throat. The man’s eyes were open impossibly wide, his irises tiny, dark pinpricks in the bloodshot sclera. His face was stretched into a smile, gruesome, the opening red and wet, showing off layers and layers of impossibly sharp teeth.

The man didn’t move. He stood there, staring, letting out a breath that was hot and rancid against Hikaru’s mouth. That breath seemed to pass through all of the white noise in Hikaru’s brain, flipping every defense mechanism from ‘freeze’ to ‘flight’, and Hikaru ran.

The ground came up to meet his feet, pebbles and cracks in the sidewalk shifting, gaping holes opening up under him, the asphalt crumbling away behind him and bulging up in front of him, causing him to trip as he made his way frantically inside. He fumbled with his apartment key, opening the door and slamming it shut behind him. He took a few slow steps into the hallway, and for a moment, the world was still.

Then the entire apartment _swayed_.

Hikaru fell to his knees, the landing loud and painful, and almost immediately ropes split through the floor, splintering the wood and wrapping around his legs. They were thick as his fingers and fleshy in texture, warm to the touch, covered in dark boils.

Hikaru cried out, ripping at them. He had to scratch and pull, but eventually the ropes broke, the boils bursting as he wrenched himself free and coating his hands in blood. The blood was thick and dark, the metallic smell so strong it made his teeth ache.

Then he blinked, stumbling away, and when he opened his eyes again, the apartment was full of horrors. The fleshy things were growing from the walls and the floors, lumpy and uneven, the cancerous tumors opening up to reveal bulging eyes and sets of teeth. He turned to the door, but it was covered in hands, the fingers bony and black, some of them stretching across the wood, others reaching out towards him.  
The kitchen was only steps away, Hikaru dashing in and pulling a knife from the knife block. A black, mold-like growth was breaking out across the ceiling, pulsating as it moved like an overgrown slug. At a loss for anything else to do, Hikaru dove under the table.

Should he call Keito? Should he call for help? Hikaru pulled his phone from his pocket with shaking hands, seeing texts from his boyfriend that he had missed.

_ From: Keito_

_ On the train now! My last two lessons canceled, so I’ll be home before you!_

_ From: Keito_

_ Anything we need from the store? I’m picking up some groceries so I figured I should ask._

The store. If Keito was at the store, then he was barely a block away from all this horror. Should Hikaru warn him? If so, how? Telling Keito not to come home, that something was wrong, was a surefire way to get him rushing to the apartment in an instant. All the same, with all this around him--the whole apartment seemed to be breathing, palpating, the air thick and wet.

Hikaru knew there were tears in his eyes, but didn’t realize they were falling until they smudged across his phone screen. The screen went black a second later, and then the front door opened, a screeching sound that was impossibly loud and sent a tremor through his entire body. Every muscle shook, his phone clattering to the floor.

“Hikaru?”

The call was loud, concerned and confused, and it was _Keito._ Hikaru’s stomach twisted, sick with worry for him, but he didn’t sound scared.

“Where are you? Your briefcase is here, but your house shoes are still at the door. Is everything okay?”

His voice was getting louder; getting closer.

“What happened to the floor?”

That question sounded scared, and he was in the living room now, Hikaru chancing a look at him. He couldn’t help the scream that left his mouth.

The body looking around the living room was horrific. The hair was thinned and falling out, shriveled patches of scalp showing through. The skin on its body was peeled back in intermittent strips, showing the muscles underneath, blood and extracellular fluid thinly leaking through, soaking into the shirt, pants, and socks the creature was wearing. _Creature,_ because that thing wasn’t Keito.

“Hikaru?”

If Hikaru hadn’t watched the mouth move, he wouldn’t have believed it, because the Thing sounded like Keito, so exactly that it scared him. He recoiled, squeezing his eyes shut, gripping tighter to the hilt of the kitchen knife. It tried to talk to him, but Hikaru didn’t let it. He couldn’t stand it.

“Hik--” Something warm landed on his arm, Hikaru slashing out with the knife. The Thing stumbled back, but it had left a damp, bleeding handprint on his skin.

“Stay back.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” The Thing said again, sounding almost choked up, sounding almost as scared as Hikaru felt. If this Thing had taken Keito’s voice, what had happened to Keito? “I couldn’t… I could never do that.”

There was a wet popping sound, thick and close to Hikaru’s head. It had come from directly above him, but all that was above him was the bottom of the table, Hikaru looking up quickly.

An enormous eyeball was poking through the table, splintering the wood as it emerged. The wood had punctured it, and something white and gelatinous was bursting forth, like stuffing from a ripped seam. As though in slow motion, the opaque substance fell victim to gravity, falling slowly, landing with a squelching stick to Hikaru’s neck.

It was cold and wet, the sensation too much, Hikaru shooting from under the table with a scream. A hand closed around his arm as he moved, the knife clattering away, and he was stopped in his tracks and turned around by the Keito-like monster.

“Hikaru?” It asked softly. “What’s wrong with you?”

The eyes were empty sockets. As he watched, the jaw fell slack, opening wider and wider and wider, no sound coming out.

Hikaru felt it, the instant his mind went blank. Then he couldn’t stop it anymore, couldn’t fight the terror coursing through his veins; his eyes fell closed, his head lolled, and his knees gave way to the floor below.

Keito just barely managed to catch Hikaru before he fell all the way to the floor, holding tight to his torso, sinking slowly to his knees to lower him to the ground. His breath felt stuck in his throat, his heart beating wildly, pulling Hikaru's body into his lap as he looked around.

What the hell was going on?

Hikaru had been fine this morning. Completely normal, kissing him and wishing him a good day before heading off to work. In the phone call they'd shared during their lunch break he had complained about feeling slightly feverish, but that it wasn't cause for concern--he would just drink some tea, and maybe take some medication, and everything would be fine. And Keito believed him; Hikaru got sick easily, and often, but it was usually something extremely mild, and Hikaru was very good by now at taking care of himself.

But this, this _reaction_ wasn't just a simple fever; that much was obvious. It had been unusual to come home and see Hikaru's briefcase abandoned by the front door, sprawled out next to his unused house shoes, but that had been nothing to prepare Keito for what was in the kitchen.

He'd seen the floor first. There were deep nail marks in a small section of the wood, a couple of steps out into the hallway, as though someone had tried to dig between the floorboards with their hands. The scratches had gone bloody, a few splintering chunks of wood even missing from the floor. Blood dripped from the hallway to the kitchen, and when Keito followed them into the room, his heart stopped in his chest.

It was Hikaru, still dressed for work from his head to his shoes, under the kitchen table. He was crouched, cowering and crying, his entire body tightly coiled and quivering. His eyes were open but unseeing, reacting to things that weren’t there. No matter what Keito tried to say, no matter what assurances he tried to give, Hikaru didn't seem to see him. Hikaru saw something; he was responding to _something,_ but it had been with such fear, and such violence, that Keito felt sick to his stomach. That Hikaru could look at him, and feel that much fear. That Keito could touch him, and that touch would bring Hikaru to flinch and scream. It made him feel awful, horrified by what could be happening, and somehow also horrified with himself.

What had happened?

The blood on the floor had come from Hikaru's hands. His nails were ripped apart, cracked and bleeding. He'd scratched at the floor for something, for some reason, dug into it until he bled. Keito gently picked up one of Hikaru's hands, holding it in both of his own, his mind reeling. The kitchen knife still lay a few feet away.

Hikaru looked horrible. His skin was incredibly pale, his face covered in a thick layer of sweat. Keito reached up to move his bangs, his hand only a few centimeters above Hikaru's skin when he felt it.

Hikaru was burning up. He was radiating heat, hotter than normal, hotter than any person was supposed to be. Keito jumped into action, scrambling through his pockets for his cell phone, something he realized he should have done minutes ago, fear and shock be damned. Fumbling in his haste, it took two tries to call an ambulance, explaining that his boyfriend was feverish and unconscious.

“There's something wrong with him. I don't know what but, but… Something's wrong.”

The paramedics brought in a stretcher when they saw Hikaru's unconscious body on the floor. Keito knew the scene was strange, but no questions were asked, the paramedics all business and working quickly. They had a hold on Hikaru when he began shifting, his eyes opening slowly. It took a full two seconds for him to look around, then he screamed and began writhing.

Keito was shoved backwards as the entire team rushed at Hikaru, trying to subdue him. They tried asking him questions, calming him down, but again any outside stimuli was ignored as he continued to scream and struggle.

“Don't kill me! Please! Go away! Just go away!”

Hikaru had to be strapped onto the stretcher, and even then he didn't stop fighting. He looked more pale than ever, his body hot, his back arching and falling and every muscle straining. Keito's stomach turned over and over as stood there, unable to do anything but watch as the man he loved pled for his life again enemies unseen.

Something had to be fastened around Hikaru's mouth, a measure to keep him from biting through his own tongue. It was then, muffled and bound, that he finally fell still. His eyes darted around, wide and wild and wet with tears. One of the paramedics continued to talk to him as they loaded him into the ambulance, but if he could hear her, Hikaru made no indication. He simply lay there, quivering.

Keito made to follow, unwilling to let Hikaru from his sight, but one of the paramedics held out a hand to stop him.

“For your own safety, I cannot permit you enter this ambulance. Please use an alternate method of travel to the hospital.”

Then the doors closed and they drove away, Hikaru's screams still echoing in his ears.

When Hikaru woke again, all of his limbs felt heavy. He left his eyes closed for a few moments, trying to figure out why. He felt horrible, sweaty and hot, but also cold to the bone, his head aching, his thoughts feeling fuzzy.

He let his eyes open. A woman’s face was hovering over him, so close that their noses would have touched, if she had one at all--two slits were cut into her face where her nose should be. Instead, her eyes protruded, large and wet, the vertical irises cat-like and sharp.

“He’s awake.” She said, her voice curiously far away, but when she opened her mouth, he saw that her teeth were cat-like too, her tongue covered in barbs. Hikaru tried to lurch back, his heart jumping into his throat and throttling him into silence, but found that he was bound down. His hands, feet, and forehead were all strapped to the bed.

“What first?” A voice asked, the speaker someone Hikaru couldn’t see. The cat-woman looked over him, and Hikaru tried not to blink, not even to breathe, hoping against hope that the answer would never come.

The woman’s mouth opened again, her teeth impossibly sharp, canines glinting. She leaned even farther over him, the stretch and angle of her neck an impossible one, her cartoonishly garrish eyes so close that if Hikaru were to inhale, their wetness would touch his face. Then she spoke.

“Blood.”

In an impossibly fast instant, she was gone. In her place were two people, a man and a woman. They were both bald, heads heavy with rolls upon rolls of extra skin. The skin was held above their eyes and away from their noses with crude staples, pinching the rolls together, rusty and crusted with dried blood. Their mouths were covered with masks, and from under those masks ran something black, thicker and darker than ink. It soaked into their clothes, but was paid no notice by either of them.

The man was holding the largest syringe needle Hikaru had ever seen in his life, and Hikaru knew in that instant that the needle, in some capacity, was going to be used on him.

“No!” He screamed, unable to stay still and silent any longer. He thrashed with an arm, pain shooting through him from his wrist to his shoulder. The woman reached out with a heavily bandaged hand and forced the shoulder down.

“Yaotome-san, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down. We are not going to hurt you.” She said. Her voice was incredibly level, but black sludge poured more heavily from the mask as she spoke.

Without words, without warning, the needle was plunged into Hikaru’s arm. First it pinched, then stung, then burned, his flesh feeling lit on fire. The feeling traveled up his neck and even to his eyelids, and he screamed again, kicking his feet, but his upper body was held firm.

The needle was slowly filling up. Hikaru expected to see his blood, but no blood came from his veins. Tiny spiders were pouring through the needle and into the barrel, and he could see now why it was so large--the spiders wouldn’t stop coming out of him, crawling up and over the sides, their legs skittering at lightning speed as they all swarmed over each other.

Then, as suddenly as he saw them, he could _feel_ them. They were inside of him, crawling through his body, burrowing around in his brain, wriggling and writhing under his skin. He screamed again, shaking violently, desperate to free his hands, desperate to do something to get these spiders out of him.

“Yaotome-san!”

The man with the needle was gone, and the woman thrown off him in his struggle, thrashing against the bonds.

“Out!” He had to yell, the horror closing up his throat. He could feel the legs, scuttling into his lungs, _drowning_ him. “Get them out! Get them out of me!”

“Pulse and respiration both spiking.” Came a man’s voice. The woman was back and holding him down, but the mask had fallen from her face to hang uselessly from one ear, and now Hikaru could see where where the black slime was coming from. Her lips were parted, and, the skin of her them, along with her cheeks, chin, and tongue were all raw and sticky and blistering, the black stuff flowing from her like blood. As he watched, spiders began to crawl from the open hole, up her face, into her nose and over her forehead, tracking the blackness all over her skin like footprints.

A pair of gloved hands descended upon him, and then something was in his mouth, forcing his tongue back and away from his teeth. He couldn’t scream anymore, writhing harder, every point tying him to the bed throbbing and stinging.

“He needs to be sedated again, before he starts seizing.” It was the cat-woman’s voice, and suddenly she was back. Her entire head was too cartoonish for her body, too large, too heavy. It lolled around on the too-frail neck.

“Understood.”

Instantly, the edges of his vision began to blur. Hikaru saw her bearing down on him, all sharp teeth and bulging eyes, and everything went black.

“How is he?” Keito asked, the words tumbling over each other in a desperate attempt to rush out of his mouth. He’d been waiting to talk to the doctor for hours, growing slightly impatient in his need to know what was going on, but at the same time, realizing that she was tending to Hikaru, and that his boyfriend needed the help more than he needed the information. But she was here now, sitting down with him, and he wanted to know everything.

“He’s asleep again. He had to be sedated.” She responded. Keito nodded. This was the second time Hikaru had to be sedated since arriving at the hospital--Keito had only been able to see him once, through a window, and he’d been unconscious then as well. “But we’ve cleaned and bandaged his injuries, and have started running tests on his blood and saliva. We’ll let you know when we have more information.”

“But do you have any idea why he’s acting that way?” Keito asked. The doctor was silent for a few moments, contemplative, as though debating whether or not to share her thoughts with Keito. Keito knew that there probably wasn’t much she was sure of at this point, but didn’t care; he wanted some kind of answer.

“We won’t know for sure until we’re actually able to talk to him.” She started slowly. “But it appears that whenever Yaotome is awake, he experiences horrific hallucinations.”

Hallucinations. That explained a lot--the unseeing eyes, begging with things that weren’t there. The erratic action and self-inflicted injuries were simply reactions, and in a way that made the knot in Keito’s stomach loosen, just a bit; he still hadn’t been able to shake Hikaru’s face from his mind, the way tears had rolled down his cheeks, the way he had recoiled when Keito tried to touch him. What had Hikaru seen, instead of him?

“Do… Is…” Keito paused, unsure even how to ask. It was a loaded, all-encompassing question, but it was the most important one. The only one he really needed an answer to. “Is he going to be okay?”

Again, the doctor didn’t answer right away, and with each passing second of silence, Keito’s chest grew tighter and tighter, worry and anxiety doubling up over itself.

“We’ve gotten his fever down, and we’ll know more when the tests are finished.” She said. “When we do, you’ll be the first to know.”  
It was a dismissive statement, Keito could see, and he nodded quietly. He allowed himself to be led from the doctor’s office, ignoring their suggestions for him to go home and rest, stopping outside of Hikaru’s room instead and watching his sleeping form through the window.

The following days were torture. Keito wasn’t allowed in Hikaru’s room to see him, for fear that whatever was plaguing him could be contagious, but at the same time, he couldn’t stay away. Whenever he was home he felt restless, his mind stuck at the hospital. He cleaned until the place was spotless, and cooked, but didn’t have an appetite when he was done. He even had to skip work, sending out apologies and pawning all of his lessons off onto his coworkers. He felt like a zombie, unable to sleep and stressed to the point of exhaustion, sitting in the hallway of Hikaru’s room until visiting hours closed.

Even if he could actually visit Hikaru, it wouldn’t do much good; Hikaru had to constantly be sedated. Any human interaction made him writhe and scream, and even if the room was empty, he would be reduced into a muttering, teary-eyed mess within a couple of minutes, his heart rate spiking to a degree that was dangerous. Hikaru was almost comatose, unconscious and strapped to his hospital bed.

After roughly a week, the doctor called Keito yet again into her office, and while she was exhausted as well, she gave him a small, resigned smile.

“We’ve started Yaotome on an extremely strong antifungal medication.” She said, and the words took a moment to sink in.

“A… A what?” Of all the things Keito expected, that wasn’t it.

“It took awhile to find, because all of the cases of an infection like this were either extremely mild or extremely old, but it appears that he has a fungal infection.” She said. “It is being caused by Claviceps purpurea, which can grow on grains. He could have ingested it and gotten sick, if his immune system was suppressed in some way at the time.”

“He has… Food poisoning?” Keito asked blankly.

“In a way, yes.” The doctor looked over the chart in her hands, as though thinking of some other way to explain it, but finding none. “The resulting alkaloid ergotamine from the fungi have been known to cause widespread effects on circulation and neurotransmissions in the body, and would cause hallucinations. There have been a couple of cases in the past, but not for many years.”

“And he’s being treated?”

“We’ve started him on voriconazole.” When she realized that the word meant nothing to Keito, she elaborated. “It’s a very strong antifungal medication, usually used to treat patients that are immunocompromised. Does Yaotome have any autoimmunity issues?”

“I mean, he’s sick a lot, but he catches it quickly.” Keito said. “He takes care of himself. He never gets me sick, either.”

The doctor nodded. “That’s good.” She said. “We’ve determined that the infection isn’t contagious, since it is most likely foodborne. Other cases might pop up in the area, but nobody that’s interacted with Yaotome since he was infected should be in danger.”

“Does that mean--?” Hope sparked in Keito’s chest, causing him to rise halfway off his chair. “Could I see him?”

“That… That isn’t wise.” She said slowly, and Keito’s heart sank again. “We don’t know how fast acting the medication is on this particular strain, or even how effective it will be. We don’t know how he will react when he wakes up again.”

She got up, making to leave, Keito standing up fast.

“Please.” He said, and she stopped, turning back to him. “The man I love is in there, sick and alone, and I don’t… I want to help him.”

“Okamoto-san, we don’t know if your presence would be a help or a hindrance at this point.”

“Then I’ll leave before he wakes up.” Keito said desperately, wanting some compromise that would cause her to say yes. He needed to see Hikaru, to see that he was safe, and being cared for. He wanted to touch him, to know that he was real and warm and going to be okay. “I have to see him.”

The doctor considered him for a long moment, her shoulders falling into a resigned sigh.

“I don’t think this is wise.” She said, but Keito heard the consenting implications behind her statement, thanking her profusely as he followed her into HIkaru’s room. There were a couple of nurses in the room already, one of them on standby with a syringe needle in hand, full of a clear liquid. Keito guessed that it was a sedative, but was too afraid to ask.

Hikaru didn’t look peaceful. His eyes were closed, but somehow his body still seemed tense--Keito had seen him asleep enough times to know when he was at ease, and when he wasn’t. If they were at home, Keito would wake him with a gentle kiss to the temple, maybe massage Hikaru’s shoulders slowly, rub his back to warm him up and kiss his face until he smiled. But Hikaru was in a hospital bed, strapped down by his chest and ankles; he’d had restraints on his forehead and wrists too, but the bruising in those areas suggested more harm than good, and they’d since been removed.

All of Hikaru’s fingers were bandaged, looking painfully bulky and laid gently by his sides. His face was puffy, his eyelids red and swollen from crying and Keito felt his knees nearly give out as the reality of it all hit him, of how much Hikaru was hurting. He managed grab onto a chair, pulling it up to Hikaru’s side and falling into it. He reached up, running a thumb across Hikaru’s cheek. If he could take all of this and shoulder it himself, he would make that trade in an instant.

At his touch, Hikaru flinched back, his eyes shooting open. Keito withdrew, getting to his feet, waiting for the reaction. Waiting for Hikaru to recoil away from him, to be _afraid_ of him again.

Instead, he stared. He stared into Keito’s face for a long, silent moment, and Keito held his breath. Then, finally, in a voice so quiet it was almost broken;

“Keito?”

All the air rushed from Keito’s lungs in an instant, relief filling its absence, Keito choking on his inhale as he nodded.

“Keito.” Hikaru said again, with certainty this time, and he reached up, reaching out for him. Keito stepped close, and the second he was within reach Hikaru grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in, Keito half-falling on him in an attempt to come in close enough.

“Your hands--” Keito tried, but Hikaru seemed not to care, his hands twisting in the fabric of Keito’s jacket.

“You’re okay.” Hikaru said, his voice breathless and weak with relief. “You’re okay.”

“Me?” Keito asked, disbelieving. “You, you’re the one… I was so worried, I--”

Hikaru’s entire body tensed, Keito freezing when he felt it.

“What?” He murmured. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The eyes.” Hikaru whispered, and Keito’s heart broke for him. “They’re back. They… They’re going to hurt you, Keito--”

“Nothing is going to hurt me.” Keito told him, pulling back carefully to look into Hikaru’s eyes. Hikaru’s gaze was past him, over his left shoulder, his breath quicker. “Hikaru, look at me.”

It took a couple of moments, but finally Hikaru dragged his wide eyes to Keito’s face.

“Nothing is there.” He said, his words slow, needing Hikaru to understand. “You’re sick.”

“Sick?” Hikaru echoed.

“You’re hallucinating. It’s okay, Hikaru.” Hikaru’s eyebrows furrowed, his expression turning slightly desperate as he searched Keito’s eyes. “You’re in the hospital, and you’re getting help. Nothing is going to hurt me, and nothing is going to hurt you, either.”

“H… Hallucinating?” Hikaru sounded almost afraid to believe it. He reached up, touching Keito’s face, the bandages rough against Keito’s skin. “But you’re here, right?”

“I’m here.” Hikaru’s hand rested against Keito’s cheek and Keito reached up, covering the hand with his own, holding it. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

Hikaru pulled him back in, burrowing his face into Keito’s neck this time, holding him tightly. After a few breaths, Keito realized that Hikaru was crying again and simply held him closer, trying to calm him.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.” He murmured, repeating the phrase that seemed to bring Hikaru the most comfort. “I’m here.”

Three days later, Hikaru was discharged from the hospital. His hands were still bandaged, but his head felt clear. Two more cases broke out over that time, but now the doctors knew what to do, and the medication worked quickly. Only a week was lost to the affliction, but it left behind a lifetime of images in its wake. Keito was by his side, a quiet comfort, and for now, that was all Hikaru needed.


End file.
